2013
by Cinvxten
Summary: After the historically short WW3 ended with a nuclear bang, America is left with a new government. But could these dark times be enough to destroy what was thought to be most powerful? Love and friendship? South Park, Alternate Universe, rated T.
1. The Arbiters

An interesting idea I concocted while I was stuck for five hours in a car. I don't know how long this story is going to be, but I have some pretty good plot subjects going on. Please tell me what you think, because I love feedback. It's going to get better, I promise; the plot just needs to get its momentum going. This is only the first chapter after all, heheh.

This is rated Teen for violence, some swearing, and scenes of peril.

Characters that will be appearing in this and future chapters: Stan, Kyle, Cartman, Mr. Garrison, Kenny, Butters, Jimmy, Wendy, Craig... possibly some others if I need them.

**Discaimer: I do not own South Park or Russia. Wow... talk about oxymorons... South Park and Russia in the same sentence? Crazy!!**

ENJOY!

**2013**

"As of December 25, 2012, the Third World War this sick Earth has known is over! In less than two years, the bloodshed, the tears, and all the evil has stopped! Russia has succumb to the power of our superior nation, our superior might!"

Crowds cheered and whistled as snow fell in sheets among them. But each individual was so captivated by the orator's speech they couldn't have cared less. The icy chill of the wind was not enough to dampen their spirits. One of the shortest, yet bloodiest wars even known to man was finally over. Spectators looked up in hope toward the speaker.

He was a tall, imposing man with his fist waving in the air and a voice that commanded more power than any other. But he was not the President. Oh no, this man was Vincent Cooper, Pennsylvania State Representative. He was a man who, during the war, worked his way up through the ranks until finally he was the one standing on the podium. The only thing colder than the blistering snow was his chilling leer.

"But…" he began, and the thousand spectators instantly fell silent. "We as Americans must understand what went wrong. It was a corrupt government. A corrupt Congress. And who allowed all of this heinous tragedy to befall our country? The people! You always had the power to over throw them, and stop them from going to war. But did they console you? Did they ask for your opinions? No! They dropped those 6 bombs without even warning the general public!"

A cry of "Down with the government" rang out from the crowd, and Vincent raised his hand to silence them.

"But I tell you, my people, no more! No more shall this government use you! From now on, with me as your leader, we shall create a new government! One that does not answer to greedy statesmen, but to only one honorable man!"

"Cooper!" the people shouted. "Cooper! Cooper! Cooper!"

"Today, we cast off the shackles of our old nation!" Vincent shouted, his passion sending his body into a tense convulsion. "We shall no longer be states; Pennsylvanians, Georgians, Texans, no longer! From this day forward, I will be your chancellor and this great new phoenix shall rise from the ashes of the evil United States… and erupt into the flames of the new American Federation!"

XXXXX

July 4th, 2013… Cooper's tyrannical rule is on the rise. Not two months after his famous "Christmas Address" a massive rebellion took place. Hundreds of thousands, if not millions of people rose to echoing cry of "Cooper the Corrupt" and just as quickly they were silenced. Chancellor Cooper issued his recently founded Arbiters, a legion of highly trained soldiers, and shot down rebels in the streets, even as they screamed and fled.

But still, in large cities and small towns alike, Cooper's influence reigned supreme. It could not be denied that he had brought order to a country that had none. Once a nation looked down upon by foreigners, it was now a presence that caused international leaders to cower in their bunkers.

July 4th, weather forecast: snowy. A nuclear winter was the price to pay for defeating the power house that was Russia. But it made no difference to the civilians living in the rinky dink town of South Park. They were already accustomed to constant snow fall.

The nation's militia, the Arbiters, paraded the streets daily. The soldiers consisted mainly of youth, some of the most prominent members not even twenty years of age. At the head of the column marched a man appointed as Overseer of South Park by Chancellor Cooper himself: a man by the name of Garrison. Behind him were his three right hand men, each 18 years of age: Kyle Broflovski, Stan Marsh, and Eric Cartman. These men were to be feared above all others…

"Can you believe this snow?" Cartman complained, as they returned to their barracks, a posh, comfortable one especially compared to the living spaces of the citizens of South Park. "I'm getting really sick of it. What's the good of snow if there's no Christmas?"

"Holiday Season," Kyle corrected with a sneer. He removed his jacket and cranked up the heater another degree. Stan, wordless, propped his wet boots onto the nearby table and rested his hands behind his back. "You remember the PC Laws? You could get arrested for even mentioning Christmas!"

"Of course you would say that, you're a good for nothing Jew!" Cartman drank down a mug full of coffee. "You'll get all pissy if we forget to include your precious little Han-chuka-chuk thingy."

"Hanukah, fat ass!" Kyle cursed, clenching his gloved fist, his emerald eyes burning a hole through Cartman's soul.

"Chancellor Cooper tells us we should be accepting of all people from all walks of life," Stan interjected, hoping to calm the situation down. The last thing they needed was another fight. "Cartman, keep in mind the PC Laws, and Kyle, don't be so hasty to judge people."

"Shut up, Stan," Kyle spat, wiping his fiery red head about to face him. "What the hell do you know? I'm your superior officer, so don't you dare patronize me!"

"Sorry, sir," Stan apologized, his face downcast, staring at the floor. All three of them avoided each other's gazes, going about their evening business before lights out was issued and the city would go dark. Curfews were strictly upheld. Everything was strictly upheld. Garrison was perfectly bigoted, and he loved his job as Overseer. Needless to say, executions were not a rare occurrence….

"Is anyone else sick of Mr. Garrison?" Cartman started, fumbling with his mug.

"Shut up, Cartman!" Kyle growled, his patience wearing thin.

"I mean it!" the fatter boy continued. "We could totally take him! The other guys hate his guts, they'd totally support us!"

"I don't need to hear one of your half baked schemes again, Cartman," Kyle interrupted, waving his hand to stress his point.

"Whoever said this one was half baked?" Cartman snickered. "I've already got a plan. In fact, I'm going to enact it starting tomorrow." He stood up and made for the door, holstering his pistol on the way out. "You guys can still join me if you want, it's cool. I'd stay here and chat, but I've got a stupid ass Overseer to over throw. Talk to you in the morning."

Cartman opened the door to the bunker and slammed it shut behind him. Kyle's fingers twitched, but he stayed seated until the noise of Cartman's heavy boots became nothing but a faint thump in the distance. As soon as he deemed that enough time had passed, he jolted to his feet and grabbed his favorite rifle.

"Kyle, wait…." Stan started, but was muted with one withering glare.

"As Arbiters we cannot support insubordination, Stan."

"But…" the black haired boy murmured. "He's our friend."

"Friends mean nothing anymore!" Kyle said, calmly. "We can't let Cartman get in the way of my own plans. If I have to pose of Garrison's puppet for a while longer, then so be it. But god dammit, I'm not going to allow Cartman to steal this from me! C'mon Stan!"

"Do we have to go now?" Stan asked, timidly, still trying to disarm his friend. "We could wait till morning. W-we… we could sleep in the same bed together again. M-maybe, if you're up to it? I mean… it was nice the first few times… w-wasn't it?"

Kyle stopped mid stride. His eyes glazed over in thought as he seriously considered the weighty offer. He staggered back and forth between his conflicting emotions. He swallowed hard and looked back toward Stan.

"Okay…" he whispered. "It's not like Cartman's gonna get away with anything tonight. We have all day tomorrow to do something about it."

As Kyle slid underneath the covers, Stan held him firmly in his arms. "What are we going to do tomorrow?" he asked nervously.

Kyle wrenched himself away laid with his back toward Stan. "Anything we have to…."


	2. The Rebels

The next chapter. I decided to get it up quick since that last one really wasn't that exciting. It think this is the first story where I actually have several plot lines going on at once! It's pretty cool, and I really do hope you guys are liking it! I enjoy writing action and suspense stories; it's a nice change of pace from my usual romance fanfictions. I guess I do have some flexibility in me, heheh.

**Disclaimer: South Park? I do not own it. If you accuse me of owning South Park, I will refer you to this disclaimer, which says: "South Park? I do not own it. If you accuse me of owning South Park, I will refer you to this disclaimer, which says: 'South Park? I do not own it. If you accuse me of ... well hell, I'm just repeating myself now! How did that happen?!**

ENJOY!

**2013**

**Chapter 2**

Hot breath fogged around his mouth as he panted into the chilled midnight air. The soft wind, much less harsh than what it had been the last few days, still managed to sting his eyes and cause the sky blue orbs tear up with glistening pearls. As they fell down his cheek, jostled by the act of him running, the droplets pierced through the dirt caked upon his face.

He skidded to a stop, his feet inches deep into the snow as he whirled his head around to find his next route. The horrible thing about snow was that it was leading a trail right to him. He had to get inside now, before the distant, far off voices turned into the all too familiar clatter of gunfire.

Blonde shocks of hair cascaded down into his face and he tried to blow them away. He shook his head, annoyed that he didn't have any time to bother with his bangs right now! Knuckles turned white as they gripped the precious packaged even tighter into his chest. The shouts were getting closer.

Finally he saw it; the door he had planned on finding five minutes ago before his jittery nerves had caused him to get lost. He bolted for it, ramming his strong shoulder into the wood and sending it flying open. With one deft kick he shut the passage behind him, but didn't waste the time to lock it. They would find a way to open it again no matter how many locks there were.

His footsteps echoed through the vacant house as he clambered up rotted, wooden stairs that creaked under the combined strain of his weight and months of disuse. He turned the corner and hopped out a window, down onto the nearby roof. Just as he landed he heard the door from the previous house being ripped from its hinges and a deep, nasally voice spouting orders.

There was no time to waste! With a grunt, he dashed for the roof top trap door and wrenched it open. He slid down inside and maneuvered his way through the maze of rooms. He went through another series of doors until ending up in a room lined with metal walls. He knew where he was now; the old abandoned barracks that the Arbiters used to be stationed in before a methane leak threatened their entire operation and forced them to relocate.

He plowed through the cold, steel doors and down dark, dank hallways made of concrete. At last he stumbled out into the open air again, welcoming the brisk wind. He took a step out but stopped immediately at the sound of a gun being cocked. He slowly turned around to find the culprit leaning idly against the grey brick of the building.

"Kenny," the arrogant attacker greeted.

"Craig," the other nodded, not even trying to hide the parcel in his grasp. "I can see by your stars and stripes that you've ranked up since the last time we met."

"And by your rag-tag clothes I can tell that you're even more poor now," Craig chuckled, totting a gun in his hand, but not necessarily aiming it at his old friend. "You know, you could have saved yourself a lot of time and taken the route _I_ did. No need to go through all those buildings."

"Yeah, but then you would have caught me," Kenny pointed out, a fake grin spread across his lips.

"I've caught you anyway," the black haired boy shrugged.

"I'm not in chains yet, Craig."

Craig sighed and brushed a hand through his hair. "Stubborn till the very end, eh? Well, if chains will convince you to come peacefully then I'll get some chains as soon as my subordinates arrive. Will that satisfy you? I'd hate to shoot you, ya know."

"Well, too bad," Kenny laughed, taking the slightest step forward. "Cause shooting me is the only way to stop me…." The blonde boy quickly elbowed the gun out of Craig's hand, following it up with a kick to the knee. Craig stumbled, his eyes wide with surprise until he fell flat on his ass in the snow.

Kenny wasted no time as he picked up the pistol and dashed down an alleyway. Two more men, both in blue uniforms, emerged from the building in time to help Craig up. He growled and ran for the same pass Kenny had just taken. He stopped dead in his tracks as he gazed into an alley full of doorways.

"Which one did he take?" one of the Arbiters shouted, more out of frustration than inquiry.

"Each of you, pick a door!" Craig barked, his joviant demeanor from before completely washed away. "On the count of three we open, he couldn't have gone too far!"

The three men took up a station and waited for Craig's count. As soon he yelled "Three" the doors were flung wide open. Almost instantly a gunshot was fired, and the furthest Arbiter clutched his leg, screaming in agony as he fell into the snow.

"He shot me!" the man cried, rolling on his back, staining the perfectly white snow with his crimson blood. "That little bastard shot me!"

Fearlessly, Craig ran through the doorway in time to see Kenny's shadow dart away. He cursed under his breath before turning to the other two. "You! Get him back to the base. And give me your gun, I'm going after him!"

Not thirty seconds later, Craig was tracing Kenny's steps, listening in on the echoes. He paused only moments at a crossroad in the hallway before making a sharp left. He laid his eyes on his prey as he began ganging up on the fleeing boy. He looked down to the floor as he passed a glinting silver pistol. Kenny had dropped it to make himself lighter.

"Come on, Kenny, old pal!" Craig shouted, nearly hysterical with adrenaline. "You remember gym class at least, don't ya? I was _always_ faster than you!" Sure enough, the black haired assailant was gaining. In no time, he would catch him and the chase would be over.

Kenny pivoted on his heels, a flash of steel falling from his sleeve. He flailed his arm at Craig, throwing a knife almost at point blank range. Craig staggered into the wall, letting out a guttural cry.

"This isn't high school anymore, bastard," Kenny panted, breathlessly before jumping through another door.

Craig lifted his gun, but Kenny was out of his sights before he could pull the trigger. His chest heaved before casting his gaze down onto his left shoulder. With a grunt, he grasped the hilt of the knife and ripped it from his flesh. He clenched his teeth to keep himself from shouting and dropped the dagger onto the floor below him.

Slower than before, Craig traced Kenny's movements, erupting from the doorway with an angry kick. He stared on into a desolate plane. Heavy snow had already started to come down, and if Kenny had left footprints they were already covered. There were plenty of boulders, rubble, and collapsed buildings to hide behind, but it would take forever to search them.

Through gritted teeth, Craig begrudged himself a smile. "You think this is over?" he shouted into the distance, hoping his prey could hear him. "It's never over! This town has a serious rat problem, and we're gonna clean it up!"

He flicked a pocket in his belt and pulled out a tiny canister. He turned around, shaking the bottle until it was good and ready. Then he clicked the button, a red spray of paint shooting out of the tip. With two great swipes of his arm, he spray painted an "X" on the door he had come through.

"See that?" he shouted, turning around again. "You're marked! Every time you get away, we mark the exits! Soon you'll have no where to hide! We'll have this town so covered in cameras you won't be able to piss without us knowing! You got that, Kenny! YOU GOT THAT?!"

"Sir, did you catch him?" asked a soldier as he caught up with his officer.

"Nah," Craig sighed, sounding only slightly disappointed. "It's not a problem though. He only stole a few pounds of food." He sat down on a stoop and let out a long breath, watching it mist up into the cloudy night sky.

"How many were there tonight?" the Arbiter continued.

"I'd say about three of them, including our good friend Kenny," Craig answered, not really feeling like standing up; he was tired and bleeding and a little angry that the rebels had gotten away… again. "Each one had about twenty pounds of food. Taking into account the hundred they stole last week and adding that to god knows how many provisions they had _before_ they started stealing from us… I'd say they won't be making another move for a while."

After another minute of absolute silence, Craig finally got to his feet. "Alright, let's report in."

Kenny listened to their footsteps, his back to a collapsed wall. He panted heavily, his body twitching with adrenaline and fear. That was way too close. Way too close. He swallowed hard, finding his legs paralyzed with exhaustion. He laid his head back and closed his eyes, feeling flakes of snow melt on his face.

"Psst!" came a whisper, and Kenny bolted upright. He instantly relaxed when he saw it was just Butters. He was crouching in a small hole in a building to Kenny's right. "Everyone else has gotten back to HQ, Kenny," he informed, his voice barely audible.

"Yeah," the other blonde acknowledged. "I just had a little run in with Craig and his lackeys."

"So I've heard," Butters simpered. "You're just lucky it wasn't Stan… or, god forbid, Kyle! You'd be dead before dawn!"

Kenny's eyes drooped low as his face grew dark. "Don't remind me."

"I just don't get it," Butters started, coming closer and wrapping a scarf around Kenny's neck. "We've got plenty of provisions and food down in the base. I don't see what's so important about stealing food from the Arbiters' barracks."

"It's not the food, Butters," Kenny smiled, coyly, as he carefully opened up the package. "It's the parcel itself!" He turned the package on its head and dumped out the canned food and pieces of bread into the piling snow.

"Our leader, Mikhail Donavich," Kenny explained, gingerly tearing at the packaging with his cold fingers. "He's got a man on the inside. He couldn't get anyone close to that asshole, Cooper, but he did the next best thing." Butters looked on in wonder as Kenny completely unfolded the thick paper.

"He got a guy into the packaging company for the Arbiters' supplies. Why do you think I ordered you guys to only steal the parcels with the number 6 on them?" Butters shrugged and Kenny flipped the paper over, revealing drawings and scribbled writing sprawled out over its entire length.

"What's that?" Butters asked in awe, his blue eyes wide with bewilderment.

"A piece of the plans to our next mission," Kenny grinned, bearing his white teeth. "Those Arbiters won't know what hit them…."


	3. The Betrayal

Do you know how much I love getting feedback? Like... so much... I don't even know! So, please write a review. Tell me what you think of the story, how I can improve at all, hell, even comment to say where you think the story's headed! I just love feedback SO much!

**Disclaimer: I do own South park!**

**_Disclaimer on the Disclaimer: That was a lie._**

ENJOY!

**2013**

**Chapter 3**

Craig set his wavering eyes down to the ground as his body trembled uncontrollably. He was doing his best to keep his cool, but he couldn't help feeling scared in front of his old teacher. He had never been afraid of Garrison back then. It was always a riot to make fun of him during class. But that was before Garrison had control over legions of soldiers….

Kyle, Stan, and Cartman were standing at attention in front of the door to Garrison's office. It was a relatively posh bunker, with a nice sized bed, heater, refrigerator, and all the comforts of home really. Cartman scanned the room with greedy eyes as Kyle leered at him with an equally malicious glare.

"Craig, I can't express how disappointed I am in you," the older man sighed as he sat down behind a bulky metal desk. "I definitely had a lot of confidence in you, but it seems it was ill placed."

"I apologize again, sir," the black haired boy said, doing his best to keep his voice from stuttering. "My failure is inexcusable."

"That it is, that it is," Garrison agreed, clicking his tongue. "Lucky for you there seems to be a bug going around; the 'Failure Flu.' Everyone's catching it. You weren't the only one who let Rebels get away this week." He paused a moment to pour himself a glass of wine, and Craig obviously relaxed a little. After taking a sip from his glass, Garrison returned his gaze. "I can't necessarily punish you without punishing nearly everyone else."

"Thank you, sir!" Craig exclaimed, the relief his words apparent.

"However," Garrison continued. "If it happens again, I can't promise you the same treatment a second time." Craig nodded in acknowledgment. "You may go. All of you. Meals will be served in the Mess Hall in one hour, understood? Curfew is enacted in five."

A chant of "Sir, yes, sir," echoed in the room as four men saluted and left via the only door.

"Whew-hoo! Did you see Craig squirm, you guys?" Cartman laughed almost as soon as they were down the hall. "'Oh please, Mr. Garrison,'" he mocked in a high pitched voice. "'Don't hurt me! I have no balls!'"

"I'm right here, asshole!" Craig growled, shoving Cartman with his elbow.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Craig," the fatter boy said softly, taking him by the shoulder. "Assaulting a superior officer, are you? We'll just see about that."

"Whatever," Craig spat, pulling away. "Everyone knows that only thing you can do is go crying to Garrison." He took a sharp turn and began walking toward his own bunker, leaving the other three boys behind.

"I won't be crying to Garrison anymore," Cartman chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Soon, everyone will be crying to me!"

"Is that offer to join your cause still good?" Kyle asked, smiling at his old friend.

"Well, well, well, Kyle. What's this all about?"

"We're sick of Garrison as well," Stan added, his face expressionless. "We thought you could use some help in overthrowing him."

"So, it appears you two faggots have come to your senses," Cartman chortled. For an instant, Kyle's cheerful visage cracked… but just as quickly it returned. "However, I don't need any help from you gay-wads." The brown haired soldier began to walk away.

"Of course," Kyle shouted after him. "You're always right, Cartman."

Cartman stopped dead in his tracks. He slowly looked over his shoulder, laying his suspicious eyes on his red headed counter part. For what seemed like hours, they stared at each other; one in doubt, the other with Paper Mache friendliness. After a while, Cartman was saturated of their contest and without a word continued down the hall.

Stan and Kyle stood motionless in silence. Kyle was watching as Cartman strolled away… Stan was glancing longingly toward Kyle, his face a disturbing mix of reverence and concern. "He's our friend, Kyle," he muttered lowly under his breath.

"Yes," Kyle answered, just as low. "He was."

"I had a dream last night," Stan said quickly, changing the subject. "More like a nightmare. Back when we were 16, and just being drafted into the army. Do you remember that? We were just kids, and they still forced us to go."

"The best day of my life," Kyle agreed, nodding. Still he avoided looking directly at Stan.

"Remember how Kenny didn't come?"

"Weakling."

"He was our friend too," Stan murmured, his voice quivering. "Why is it… why is it that we keep losing friends? They either betray us or we betray them! What's happened to us?"

"To you…." Stan wanted to say, but just couldn't bring himself to say it.

"They don't think like I do, and were too weak to fight," Kyle answered. "Therefore, they betrayed me. They tried to get in my way… therefore, I betray them. It's human nature."

"That doesn't sound humane to me," Stan wanted to say. But still he remained silent.

Instead he asked a question that had been bubbling to the top of his mind for weeks now. A question that he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to, afraid it might hurt too much: "Why don't you ever look at me anymore?"

Kyle said nothing, just kept staring off into space. The silence between them was deafening, and Stan could hear nothing but the beating of his own heart.

"I'll eat in the Mess Hall first," Kyle started, ignoring Stan's blatant discomfort. "Then I'll go warn Garrison."

Stan nodded in agreement and followed Kyle obediently down the hallway, understanding that his question either went unheard, or Kyle just didn't want to answer. Both were completely plausible.

XXXXX

Cartman stared at his watch intently, pistol in his hand. He watched as the second hand ticked at an agonizingly slow pace. At last it reared toward the twelfth mark, and as soon as it hit the entire hallway went black with a thunderous clatter.

"Curfew," Cartman grinned, lowering his arm. He waited in the blackness, his shoulder against the door to Mr. Garrison's quarters. If he didn't know any better, he'd say the sound of his frantic heart pumping adrenaline would be enough to wake the dead.

He ground his jaw and began tapping his foot impatiently, rehearsing what he was going to say to his helpless victim as soon he barged through that door. "Cue music," he growled in a whisper, hoping his command would take effect.

Surprisingly, music did begin to play. Garrison was listening to his Broadway CDs before bed just as Cartman had planned he would. With the distraction of the music, Garrison would barely be able to defend himself as he unwound from a day of tyranny. He was a fool to let his guard down so easily.

With one forceful kick, Cartman ploughed through the door, aiming his gun right at the point where Garrison's chair would be. "Alright, bastard, this is-"

Cartman went mute as he chocked on a gasp. He was aiming his loaded gun at nothing but an empty room. There was a click and crackle of static. Startled, Cartman jumped and looked around the room, laying his eyes on a lone intercom.

"My, my, Cartman," Garrison's voice echoed confidently through the speaker. "I had to see it to believe it. But here you are; ready, willing, and able to take my life. Well… maybe not that last one, but you're definitely ready and willing." Garrison's voice convulsed in a bemused laugh. "And that, my boy, is all I need to condemn you. GUARDS!"

Cartman's eyes grew wide with the sudden realization that he had been backstabbed. Without wasting a moment, he turned and dashed down the hallway, shooting two Arbiters as they rounded the corner.

He didn't stop to mock them as he normally would have, his life threatening plight dictating his immediate escape from capture. He entered into a stair case, debating whether he should go up or go down. Heavy, boot laden footsteps approaching from below forced Cartman's hand as he pivoted and bolted up the steps.

Panting and tired, he burst through the highest door and stepped onto the gravel strewn roof of the building. A gust of wind billowed through him like ice and his face went instantly flush. His mind was racing a hundred miles an hour trying to think where he could run to next. With a grunt, he ran for the edge of the roof hoping to see some way down.

Cartman was frozen instantly at the sound of the stairway door opening for a second time.

The world seemed to stop turning and all time slowed to a halt. Gradually spinning around at what seemed like a snail's pace, Cartman faced the new comer.

The wind whistled. The moon grew dark. The light appeared to shy away and all became silent except for the sound of boot on gravel. With slow, deliberate steps, Kyle emerged from the doorway.

Cartman breathed in a gasp as he stared on into the endless abyss of Kyle's menacing emerald eyes. They were so cold, yet burning with an icy fire that made Hell itself freeze over. Cartman's blood was like ice as he staggered backward; the visage of his former friend so malevolent that he was over powered by fear.

Instantly, time sped up again as Cartman flailed his arms, falling backwards over the edge of the fortress. He tumbled head over heels, but still managed by the grace of god to grasp hold of the ledge. He didn't even have the breath left to scream.

Slowly, but ever so surely, Kyle's silhouette towered over the frantic boy, looming like a black cloud over him. Cartman shrank away in terror, Kyle's aura so full of malice that it compelled him. "K-kyle," Cartman stammered, finding his voice. "Help me up, please. Oh, god, Kyle, h-help me!"

Kyle leaned in close and took hold of Cartman's wrists with two chilled hands.

"Thank god, Kyle!" Cartman blubbered. "Thank you, please, help me up! Kyle, thank god! Please!"

"You…" the fiery red head began, his voice low and guttural. "You ridiculed me."

Cartman's eyes widened. Kyle tightened his grip with such force that his prey just _had_ to let go of the ledge. "Kyle? What are you… Kyle!"

"You demeaned me," the angry attacker continued. "You made fun of my religion. Of my sexuality. Called me Jew. Called me fag."

"Kyle, please, god, let me… let me explain!"

"You know…" Kyle started, leaning over so that his mouth was right to Cartman's ear. "In a way, I wish this could be good-bye."

"Kyle…"

"Unfortunately…"

"Jesus Christ, Kyle!"

"It's more like…"

"Kyle, for the love of god!"

_"Good riddance."_

Stan looked from the rooftop's doorway with grim eyes and watched as Kyle let go. He didn't move to stop him. He didn't echo Cartman's screams. He didn't even flinch when he heard the sound of the sickening thud below….


	4. The Roses

Next chapter. I hope things are exciting enough for you. This chapter gives us more mysteries... but hardly any answers. What could possibly be going on? God, I wish I knew what was going to happen next....

**Diclaimer: According to Family Watchdog, I have 42 sexual predators in my neighborhood. What a coincidence; there are 42 reason why I don't own South Park! I'd tell you them, but I'm sure you're more interested in the predators....**

ENJOY!

**2013**

**Chapter 4**

Kenny sat down in front of his fellow Rebels and let out a long sigh. He had called them all together to meet at their Head Quarters: the run down basement of what used to be a Wal-Mart before American troops reduced it to rubble in order to ensure no major establishment fell into the hands of invading Russian battalions.

"Are we all present?" he asked, lifting up his head to scan the dark room, a single light fixture hanging over head illuminating the space. "Role call, Butters," the blonde commanded before leaning back lazily into his chair.

"Uh, Butters, s-sir," the fidgety boy saluted. "Reporting in." He looked over his shoulder to the others, making sure they all spoke.

"Wendy and Bebe reporting, Kenny," the black haired girl spoke first. Bebe nodded in agreement.

"Bradley here," the third blonde boy spoke before returning to biting his nails again.

"And J-j-j-jimmy," Jimmy finished, adjusting his crutches before sitting down.

"Good, we're all here," Kenny sighed again. He'd been doing that a lot lately.

"Um, Kenny sir," Butters started, raising his hand as if still in school. "I know I've said this before but… there are only six of us. Maybe we should start recruiting more people to help get South Park back to normal."

"No, Butters," Kenny rejected softly, but firmly. "We can't ask anyone else to endanger themselves. If we started reeling people in, well, we'd be no better than the Arbiters. Besides, six is the perfect number. There are enough members so that we can still pull of missions, but it's a small enough group that we can't be as easily detected or caught. No, I think six will do just fine."

"So why did you call this meeting?" Bebe asked, leaning forward over the table. "Does it have anything to do with Mikhail's new mission?"

"I doubt Mikhail even knows about our little group," Wendy grimaced, deflated. "South Park is such a small town. He's got bigger fish to fry. But, maybe if we sent a message out or something to the Russians they'll give us some back up?"

"And risk being c-c-caught?" Jimmy interjected. "Yeah right, W-wendy."

"Enough!" Kenny groaned. "There's something else, not about the mission. It's more on a personal level." The others fell silent in respect to their leader. They all knew that if it wasn't for Kenny bringing them all together, there wouldn't even be a Rebel Faction in South Park. "I'm sure you all remember Cartman?" Kenny asked, his voice low.

"How could we not?" Wendy teased with a smirk. "He was such an asshole, but you know, I kinda wish he was on our side. We could use a mind like his."

"What about Cartman?" Butters asked.

Kenny closed his sky blue eyes and took a deep breath. He reached down below the table and plucked from the ground an object. Lifting it up to the light, he set down on the table a single red rose.

The entire group gasped, then fell utterly quiet. Rose bushes were nearly extinct thanks to the nuclear winter. There was only one in South Park, and it was in a green house under the Rebel's possession, barely keeping alive. To cut from it was a tradition strictly reserved for….

"We haven't cut a rose since… since…" Bebe started, a tear coming to her eye.

"Ike…" Bradley finished, solemnly, his eyes dark and downcast towards the floor.

"That could only mean…" Wendy began, but choked on her own words.

"He's gone," Kenny informed, his fingers gingerly playing with the rose's stem, pricking himself with one of the thorns. "From what I've gathered, he tried to stage a coup against Garrison. I don't know how he died but… I do know that it was Kyle who did it."

"I called that one y-y-years ago," Jimmy mumbled, more to himself than to anyone else.

"How ironic," Kenny mused, examining the rose, touching its delicate petals with pales finger tips. "Two roses… one killer…."

After a moment of reverence between the six of them, Kenny stood up and walked over to Bradley. "If you don't mind," he asked politely. "But would you go and put this one where it belongs?" Bradley nodded, and left the room, holding the fragile flower like an ancient relic. The others remained silent, mulling over the memories of a person they never really understood was their friend until just then.

XXXXX

"Garrison, sir!" Kyle shouted frantically as he burst into his superior officer's room. It was two hours past Curfew and Garrison was just on the verge of falling asleep. Needless to say, his mood was a little less than courteous.

"This had better be important, Kyle," he groaned, putting on his glasses and slipping a pistol from underneath his pillow.

"It is, sir," Kyle panted, apparently out of breath from running. "It's a Rebel attack! They've fired the first shots and are invading in numbers we didn't think were possible!"

"Are you serious?" Garrison gaped, his jaw hanging open in surprise. "How could we have let this slip through our surveillance? We have cameras and vanguards posted everywhere, how could they have amassed such an assault?"

"I don't know, sir," Kyle shrugged. "But one thing is for sure. If they break through our fortress, you will no doubt be their first target. We must get you to a safer location, ASAP!"

"Agreed," Garrison growled, loading a clip expertly into the bottom of his gun. The two of them briskly jogged down the dark hallway until they were eventually joined by Stan and two more officers.

"Sirs," one of the lower ranking soldiers saluted. "The rebel attack has gone into a ceasefire. We believe that they are attempting to lure us outside, distracting attention from our base."

"Well, do it!" Garrison shouted, sporting his pistol. "You out gun them, no matter how many there are. And there are enough defensive battalions in this fort to stave off even a Russian legion, let alone a few rats! Scramble a few men outside in skirmish formation and find out where they're hiding!"

The two officers saluted again and went off to execute the orders. Garrison turned his seething attention to an expressionless Stan. "And why aren't any of our sirens or alarms going off?"

"Sir," Stan mumbled, his eyes low. "The Rebels have infiltrated our generator and took out all the lights and alarms. We have men working on it now, but for the moment, we're quite literally in the dark."

"Damn it!" Garrison cursed. "Come on, you two, we're headed for the roof. I want to see them."

Kyle glanced at Stan with grim eyes, but neither made any objection. They followed their leader up the stairs and out into the chilled midnight air. Already stationed on the roof were three snipers, scanning the grounds below for any suspicious movement. It was then that Kyle spoke up.

"Garrison, sir, I don't think it to be wise to be on the roof. The Rebels may have sniper units as well."

"Does it look like I give a shit?" Garrison barked. "I've been waiting for some action in this town for months now! There's no way I'm gonna let a mob of rabble take this from me." He cast his leer upon the other snipers, before waving them down. "Get down there and aid in the search, you're not going to be able to see anything through those scopes in this light!"

The three men saluted and went on their way. They passed through the door in a hurry, which was quickly closed by a smiling Kyle.

"Damn those rats," Garrison was spitting under his breath. "Where are those Rebel scum?"

"What Rebels?" Garrison whirled about to find Kyle aiming a gun right at him.

There was silence between them as the realization dawned upon the older man. He took an angry step forward, his face contorting into a grotesque visage of wrath and betrayal. "There was no attack, was there?" he whispered, his voice hot with venom. Kyle just smiled in return and raised his gun higher.

Like a flash of lightning, the two Arbiters fired their weapons with sloppy accuracy caused by the heat of the moment. Both bullets whizzed by harmless, but in order to dodge them, both men flung themselves to the ground, losing hold of their guns in the process.

Garrison was on his feet first, rushing to one of the pistols, he kicked it away before either of them could grab it. Kyle rose slowly to his full height, clenching his gloved fists in rage. "Well, I might have expected this from Cartman," Garrison chuckled, his grin one of confidence and triumph. "But never in a hundred years did I think I would be betrayed by you, Kyle."

The older man took a few steps back towards the closed door, nodding to Stan who was standing idly by the wayside. "Cartman tried to kill me, so I had Kyle kill him. Now Kyle's trying to kill me… I think it only right that Stan do the honors this time."

The black haired boy gritted his teeth and drew a single pistol from the holster at his side. He cocked it and aimed his sights straight for Kyle's heart. Garrison chuckled as he continued to back away towards the safety of the door. Kyle looked on in shock, his angry face melting away into one of child like fear.

Stan's eyes mooned over in sadness as he took a deep breath… and fired.

Garrison staggered backward, his back landing heavily against the metal door, leaving a trail of crimson blood as he fell. Clutching at his chest, he opened his mouth to say shout some order or cry for a medic, but the air had been whisked from his lungs. "Never," Stan hissed, lowering his smoking gun. "I will never allow anyone to hurt Kyle."

Kyle burst into a roaring guffaw that resonated through the night sky. He laughed so hard he had to bend over and hold his stomach. "My, my," he chortled devilishly as he bore his gleaming teeth in a victorious smile. "It looks like you gambled too much in the loyalty of your subjects. It appears mine are a little more loyal to me than to you."

Garrison tried to say something, some final threatening words that would have ultimately been in vain, but all the erupted from his mouth was a blossom of blood that trailed down his chin and onto his shirt. Slowly, in the frozen atmosphere, he died.

One of the snipers from before came flying up the stairs and had to push Garrison's lifeless body away in order to open up the door. "What happened here?" he asked, bewildered.

"The Rebels are retreating," Kyle informed calmly, steadily approaching the corpse. "Unfortunately they claimed their prize. Garrison is dead." The soldier lowered his head in reverence. "Alas, just as Cooper said, when one phoenix dies, another rises from the ashes." Kyle smiled and ran a hand through his thick red hair, his emerald eyes shimmering in the moonlight. "With his dying words, Garrison instructed that he intended _me_ to be his successor."

The Arbiter looked astounded toward Stan for some sort of confirmation… but Stan averted his gloomy gaze, staring dismally into the far off starlight, a pistol clutched in his grasp.


	5. The Sword

Another day, another chapter. Keep those reviews coming, my friends. They definately help to motivate me get these things out quickly! And I can't thank you enough for all your support!

**Disclaimer: I am not in possession of the rights to South Park or any of its characters therein. However, I am in possession of devishly good looks and a charming personality! Guys, I'm single *wink wink* (gimme a call, babe).**

ENJOY!

**2013**

**Chapter 5**

Not a word was spoken as Kyle meandered slowly through the room, collecting his things. Stan sat quietly on his bed, his hands splayed to his sides and his legs hanging from the edge, one foot behind the other. At first he watched Kyle as the boy folded his clothes and made his bed, but gradually he lost the will to see him go and cast his eyes dismally towards the ground.

Kyle continued, mute with pride, going about his business of making sure all of his possessions were ready for transport. He had finished packing twice before, but a strange subconscious urge kept him from leaving. He felt absolutely compelled to check and recheck his baggage; to run his hand over the bed spread just one more time to make sure it was as smooth as possible; to rummage through the closet yet again even though he knew the only shirts in there were Stan's.

Finally the silence that lasted nearly half an hour was broken when the red headed leader let out a long but not so contented sigh. "This is it," he spoke, actually directing his attention to his wordless friend. "I'm moving up, Stan. No more taking orders. No more impossibly small bunker. No more sleeping together in one bed just to keep warm. I'll have my own room, my own rules."

"Just for warmth?" Stan mumbled under his breath. So soft… yet so full of hurt.

Kyle threw his bag over his shoulder and took a deep breath. He placed his hand overtop the silver doorknob. He tried many times to turn the knob and open the door, but his hand wouldn't move. There was something stopping him, a feeling he couldn't name, but also could not ignore. He looked back again, struggling just to smile. "This isn't goodbye," he assured. Whether it was to Stan or to himself he didn't know. "We'll see each other as often as possible."

Stan rubbed his nose with his sleeve and nodded. "Yeah," he agreed. "I'd like that."

"I'm going to go now," Kyle informed Stan and himself, but still his hand would not turn. Almost as if pulling teeth, Kyle twisted his wrist until at last the door unlatched. Once the passageway had swung open, it was like a chain had been cut from his legs, and Kyle departed into the hallway.

XXXXX

"Kyle's in control now," Kenny told his fellow Rebels. "It was unexpected, but it should have no effect on our up and coming mission. Cooper may be a political genius, but Mikhail is the better tactician. It doesn't matter who's in power, we'll still over throw them."

"How did Kyle get control from Garrison?" Wendy gawked, slamming her fist into the table and rattling the brittle wood.

"Rumor has it that Garrison was shot during a Rebel raid," Kenny grumbled, looking over a few sheets of paper. "But we all know that can't be true. The only other option is foul play."

"Where C-c-cartman failed, K-kyle succeeded," Jimmy observed mournfully. Across the table a pencil snapped, and everyone looked up to see Bradley drop the two shattered pieces back onto the table.

"There's nothing we can do about it now," Bebe remarked, laying her head lazily into her hand. "Kyle got his way… again. Big surprise there."

"Bebe's right," Kenny interjected before the conversation became hot blooded. "There is nothing we can do but keep making preparations for Mikhail's plan."

"We're not going to make him pay?"

The five other members of the Rebels once again all looked to Bradley. He was gripping the edge of the table with such might that his knuckles paled under the strain. "How long?" the golden blonde murmured. "How long before justice is brought down upon him? We've just sat idly by and let him have his way, no matter the hurt he's caused us."

Everyone knew where this topic was heading, and nobody wanted that for poor Bradley. They shuffled nervously in their seats, looking to Kenny to clear everything up. "He will pay, Bradley," he stressed. "As soon as we get this plan underway, we'll make sure he pays for all the deaths he's caused. Every one of them."

Bradley pushed his chair back with ear splitting squeak and took to his feet. "Where do you think you're going?" Bebe asked, getting ready to jump up.

"There's something I have to do," the boy answered. "You all know that. Don't try to stop me, please." He sprinted from the meeting, Bebe and Wendy getting up to follow him. Kenny shouted for them to stop.

"His mind's made up," he explained. "We just have to trust in him now." The five of them glanced around the room to each other, hoping for the best but fearing the worst.

XXXXX

Kyle had just finished unpacking into Garrison's old room and was getting ready for dinner when there was an urgent knock to his door. With a groan, he answered it. "What is it now?"

"Sir, there's a Rebel on our front door," the soldier obediently answered.

"What ever happened to the order 'shoot on sight?'" Kyle inquired with an annoyed tone.

"He's killed the two guards stationed at the front gate. When back up arrived he said that he wanted to negotiate with you personally."

Intrigued, Kyle rushed toward his desk and flicked on the nearby computer screen. He rifled through the security camera feed until he was viewing the front gate. There in the snow was the silhouette of a figure standing tall in the first room of the fortress, a silver object gleaming in his right hand. "Well, well," Kyle mused. "Negotiations with a sword. Now those are politics I am familiar with."

With a click, Kyle switched off the screen and retrieved from its place on the mantel a sword of his own. "Take me to him," he ordered, a sly smile spreading across his lips. "And invite Stan along, too. I'd hate for him to miss this."

Bradley stood ridged, two Arbiters already felled at his feet, their rose red blood dripping off of his cold steel. Stan and Kyle emerged from the far door, his sword sheathed at his side, his teeth bared in an eager grin. At the sight of him, Bradley trembled and clenched his fist tighter around the hilt of his weapon.

"You came to challenge me?" Kyle asked rhetorically, beaming with confidence.

"A duel," Bradley confirmed through gritted teeth. "If I win, you must step down as the Arbiter's leader."

"And if I win," Kyle simpered, the sound of grinding steel echoing through the hall as he drew his blade. "I claim your life."

They remained motionless, both of them accomplished swordsmen from the war; both understanding that it is never wise to make the first move. Bradley growled under his breath. "You're nothing but a monster. You even killed your own brother!"

"He wasn't really my brother," Kyle corrected, his sword poised nonchalantly at his side. "Adopted. Besides: he tried to kill me first."

"You can make all the excuses you want, but you'll never be able to justify it!"

Kyle tilted his head in bemusement. "What is it that you really want, Bradley?"

Bradley shivered with adrenaline and hate, his sword quivering in anger. "I want him back," he spat through his clenched jaw, his voice dripping with venom. "Give him back. GIVE IKE BACK TO ME, YOU BASTARD!"

The blonde warrior shouted ferociously at the top of his lungs as he raised his weapon and charged in heated agony. "You misguided fool," Kyle whispered. "Not even love can bring back what's already dead."

As Bradley's sword fell upon him, Kyle easily batted it away and elbowed the defenseless boy right in his gut. Bradley staggered backwards, completely in awe at how effortlessly his attack had been thwarted. Almost instantly he understood. He was no match.

Bradley furrowed his brow in defiance. "Doesn't matter," he roared, panting. "I will fight to the end. I will not just roll over and let you win again. If you want my life, you're gonna have to earn it, god damn it!"

He dove into the fray again, swinging and thrusting with expert precision. But for every professional attack, there was an even more masterful defense. The entire fortress was ringing with steel and alight with sparks as the two warriors collided.

It was like a deadly dance between the two of them; turning and slashing, stepping and dodging. A ballet of fatal force and fiery passion. The tips of their blades swiped and their legs kicked, theirs mouths upon, breathing in unison.

But Kyle most obviously had the upper hand. Soon Bradley became riddled cuts and drenched in blood as Kyle cleaved at him with ever increasing might. Even as Bradley panted and parried, struck and reposed… Kyle merely laughed at him.

"You're such an amateur," the red head taunted. "I've had years of training as a soldier to hone my skills." He slashed again, slicing through Bradley's jeans and into his knee, causing the already tired boy to stagger. "And what have you got? Self trained swordplay and pent up raw emotion? Not good enough!"

In an amazing flurry of movement, Kyle blocked two of Bradley's attacks, spun on his heels to gain momentum, and cut a deep gash along the entire length of his opponent's torso. Bradley was knocked off his feet and landed with clatter on his back, a spurt of crimson erupting from his chest as he fell.

Kyle backed away, triumphant. "How was that, Stan?" he asked, flipping the red hair from his shimmering emerald eyes.

"Poetry in motion," Stan mumbled in a monotone.

Kyle chuckled at his achievement and acquired a rag, staining it as he wiped Bradley's blood from his sword. "He wasn't too shabby. I guess he deserves a proper burial." He sheathed the blade and placed his hands pensively upon his hips. "Throw him in the furnace," he commanded his soldiers.

An Arbiter rushed to Bradley's twitching body and watched as his chest continued to heave up and down. "Sir," he called back. "I think he's still alive!"

Kyle merely looked over his shoulder, his eyes mooning over. "Like I said… throw him in the furnace." And with that, he left the room.

Stan slowly approached Bradley and knelt down beside him. He took his gun from the holster at his side and offered it to the dying boy. Bradley shook his head violently, his golden hair wet in a grotesque mixture of sweat, blood, and tears.

"Bradley," Stan coaxed softly. "I can give you a quick and painless death." Bradley shook his head again, trying to keep his body from going into convulsions. "You'd rather burn?"

"It will be nothing compared to the fires that await you and your so-called 'lover.'" Stan swallowed dryly, but he didn't react. He deserved that. He deserved everything Bradley could throw at him.

"I'm so sorry," Stan apologized, taking Bradley's hand in his as one last offering of compassion. "Another time… another place… things could have been different."

Bradley pulled away, his frail and dying form spasming from the pain. "But things aren't different," he coughed. "And neither are you, Stan. Only Kyle's changed… and he's bringing you down with him."

The Arbiters couldn't wait any longer. The wrenched Bradley away from Stan and dragged him down into the darkness. Stan watched in awe, for even though he was being led to his demise, Bradley still managed to smile one last time.


	6. The Chancellor

**_IMPORTANT NOTICE! YOU MUST READ THIS FIRST IF, SO I DON'T GET ANY MAIL ABOUT THIS LITTLE CHANGE!!_**

**For the sake of the story, I changed Ike's canon age, got it! I don't want anyone whining to me saying: "Nuh, uh! Ike's not really that old! You don't know shit." I changed it on purpose, okay? Just go with the flow, you probably won't even notice it.**

This chapter is much longer than the other ones, but it also explains a lot too. And it's very emotional, at least I hope it is. Please read and review. Tell me if you cried or not, cause I like when I make people cry, haha.

**Disclaimer: For Christmas I wrote a letter to Santa asking for the rights to South Park so I would be able to own it and not have to put disclaimers up anymore. Santa wrote a letter back saying I'd shoot my eye out. TwT ... I hate you Santa!**

[Edit: Thank you everyone for putting up with my numerous spelling and grammar mistakes! However when I re-read this chapter, I was appauled at how many mistakes there were and just couldn't let them go (as I normally do when I find mistakes; I'm lazy, shut up). Hopefully it isn't as bad now. Thank you all for your patience and in the future, if there are anymore glaring blunders that absolutely detract from your reading experience because they're so distracting, please do not hestitate to inform me. Thank you!]

Enjoy!

**2013**

**Chapter 6**

Kyle was interrupted from his morning inspection duties by a guard rushing to his side. "There's someone else at our gates, sir," he panted, a twinge of fear coating his voice. "Do you think it's another rebel attack?"

"Is he inside the fortress?" Kyle asked, all business like. If he had any worries he did an impeccable job at hiding them.

"No, he's just standing in front of our doors in the snow, asking politely for entrance."

Kyle squinted his eyes and left his duties unfinished to go check on the new threat. Upon entering the gate post, he flipped on an intercom. "This is Kyle Broflovski," he informed, staring intently at the cloaked figure through a security camera. "Please state your name and business here or we will inquire a second time with less courteous methods."

The tall man leaned into the intercom and pressed the button there to talk. "I think my name may sound familiar?" he started. "Vincent? Vincent Cooper?"

Kyle's eyes grew wide as he held back the urge to gasp. His hand hovered over the intercom, unsure of what to do or what to say. Why was Chancellor Cooper here in South Park? Why now of all times? How the hell was he going to explain Garrison's death? These questions and many more flew through Kyle's head as he debated on what to do.

Finally he pressed down his button again and cleared his throat. "Indeed it is familiar," he acknowledged. "You may enter. Unfortunately until we can confirm your identity I will request you be accompanied by armed guards during your stay."

The man leaned in again. "That's perfectly understandable." Kyle could tell by the sound of his words that he was smiling.

Kyle raced down to the entrance, planning his next move like a chess game. A single wrong phrase could ruin everything, and a lie could prove to be even more devastating. As he reached the main entrance he winced at a stain of blood left on the floor from his fight the night before. If only he had known, he would have ordered it to be cleaned earlier.

The gates opened and three men walked inside: the stranger followed by two Arbiters, their guns aimed straight at his back. As soon as he drew closer Kyle's worst fears became reality. It was unmistakable. The thick brown hair, the glasses, the overpowering aura of authority. Who else could this be than the infamous Cooper?

Kyle quickly saluted, the soldiers around him following suit hesitantly. He motioned for the guards to lower their weapons and greeted the Chancellor with a face of stone. "Good morning, Cooper, sir. What brings you to our humble abode?"

"An impromptu check up," Cooper answered, his face in a perpetual smile. It was sickeningly cheerful, as if the man had no care in the world. Kyle stared intently trying to decipher the strangely genuine grin. Was it a fake, or could the Chancellor really be a light hearted gentleman; all evidence to the contrary?

"Where is Mr. Garrison?" Cooper asked, scanning the area with his calculating eyes. Kyle grimaced for but an instant. He was hoping that particular topic could be circumvented until he had come up with a better excuse for his leader's demise. But it looked as if Cooper was as observant as he was calm.

"I'm afraid the Overseer Garrison was not working in accordance with the Chancellor's wishes," Kyle began, his voice steady and even. "I have since relieved him of his station and taken command myself."

"Ah, so you've killed him," Cooper nodded without missing a beat. "An Arbiter base run single handedly by an 18 year old. Things sure do seem to be hopping around here."

Kyle swallowed, the only thing betraying his rigid stance was a single bead of sweat tracing down his forehead. A flame seemed to erupt within his eyes as he glared down the Chancellor. A combination of many ordeals swarmed Kyle's brain, and it took all of his will power to not draw his pistol and shoot the man right then and there….

"I would prefer to adjourn to more private locations before continuing our conversation, Mr. Broflovski." Cooper placed his hands behind his back and closed the distance between the two men. "Would you please direct me to your office, Overseer." Kyle saluted and dismissed his soldiers, leading the way down an empty hall.

The red head couldn't shake the feeling of some dark presence behind him, but every time he turned his back, all he was met with was a full hearted smile. The man just never seemed to let the grin go! Nobody was that cheerful. Nobody!

"I'm actually very impressed, Mr. Broflovski," Cooper complimented from behind his subordinate. "You took control with far more accuracy and precision than the others did. And much faster… with less repercussions to boot."

"Others, sir?" Kyle asked, stopping and turning to look at the cloud of evil that instantly transformed itself into another coy simper. Cooper continued on his way, only slowing to a stop when he was a good five meters away from his counter part.

Without looking back or even raising his voice, Cooper directed his attention toward Kyle. "You would like to kill me, wouldn't you?" Kyle resisted the urge to gasp yet again. The Chancellor had such insight! It was like he could see into your soul!

"I wouldn't blame you," he continued, his words floating through the air high and lofty, and yet still weighted down with some unseen arrogance. "I can appreciate the vanity of ambition, but I'm afraid it will be extremely difficult to find a knife for _my_ back, Mr. Broflovski. You just need to be a little patience."

"Patience, sir?" Kyle inquired again.

"Who knows," Cooper chortled. "You may find yourself to be the next Chancellor without having to spill any blood at all." He pivoted gracefully to face the dumbfounded boy. "I'd have to say; out of the many soldiers I have lined up… you are definitely in my top five favorites."

"I'm flattered, sir," Kyle spoke shortly, unsure at how to take this new revelation. Kyle Broflovski… becoming Chancellor Broflovski?

Cooper placed his hand on his chin as he pondered aloud to himself. "A man willing to slay his own brother just for a scrap of food. Ah, yes, I can most definitely appreciate your type of ambition." Kyle remained motionless as he gritted his teeth. Cooper let out a contented sigh and shrugged. "Which way to your office again?"

XXXXX

Kyle doubled over in pain after a quick jab to his stomach with the butt of a Russian rifle.

"American scum," the officer spat, lifting his gun back up to his shoulder. "You are all alike. Starting wars you know you cannot finish. Well, we Russians will finish it. It's a shame you won't leave this camp alive to see the world reborn!"

"That's enough, Ivan," another interrupted, placing his hand on his comrade's shoulder. "How can you say such things? Can't you see? They're all still children, 16 or 17 at the least. They're people too, just like us. And they're fighting for their country, just like us. With the same reason we are. The only difference is the language we speak."

"Silence, Mikhail!" Ivan shouted, withdrawing himself from the man's grasp. "When I want your opinion, I'll ask for it!" He took his rifle and slammed it into Kyle's nose, causing it spout blood. The teenager fell over backwards by the force of it and coughed, every inch of him aching.

Ivan leaned over and took Kyle by his red hair, lifting him back up to his knees. "There's the red," he laughed, menacingly. "But where's the white and blue, American? Ha ha ha ha!"

The next thing Kyle knew he was being led, still bleeding, to a line of other United States soldiers. There they were told to strip down out of their uniforms, in spite of the blistering cold. "Whatever happened to fair treatment of Prisoners of War?" one soldier cried out, tears streaming down his face.

The Russians wasted no time, aiming their guns and firing. "There," one of them growled as the man fell lifeless into the snow. "Now you can be god's prisoner."

Kyle panted heavily out of panic, his breath fogging as he wrapped his arms around himself to try and keep warm. His gloomy eyes trailed down the line, hoping to see Stan, wishing with all his might that he was there, still alive. At last his eyes fell upon black hair, and his heart raced!

He leaned down a little bit to get a better look. As he stared, his hopeful grin melted away. It was replaced with a curled lip, terrified and agonized. "No," he whispered, barely able to hold back his tears. "No, it can't be…"

Kyle burst from the line, running past naked comrades and Russian soldiers alike as he made for what he hoped was just an illusion. He was captured before he could make it all the way down, his arms held behind him, but still he struggled to break free.

"Ike!" he shouted, frantically. "Ike, no! No, IKE!"

The black haired boy looked up, his eyes beet red with tears. When he saw his older brother, his gasped and broke from the line as well, and just as quickly was caught by another Russian.

"Shoot them!" Ivan shouted, obviously the commanding officer at this camp. "Shoot them both now!"

"Ivan, you mustn't!" Mikhail shouted, staying the investable reign of bullets. "Look at their tags! Kyle and Ike Broflovski! They're brother's, for heavens sake! Leave them be!"

"Brothers?" Ivan asked, his voice low and angry. "Brothers? Brothers! Did the Americans care when they shot my brother even as he waved a white flag? No! They took my brother from me in the worst way."

Ivan's eyes grew dark and malicious as his shouts died down. "No," he said calmly. "I will show you Mikhail. I will show you that 'brothers' is nothing but a label to these damned Americans. 'Brothers' means nothing to them, and I will prove it."

When Kyle awoke, he was still naked and cold. He looked around him and saw that he had been thrown into a hole dug deep into the Russian's dungeon fortress. It was dark, but he could still see that it was the size of a small room. And he could even see the pale, alabaster skin of another person down there with him.

On his hands and knees, Kyle crawled over and shook the tiny figure. When the boy looked up, it was indeed his brother, Ike. At first they stared at each other in disbelief, worried that their eyes betrayed them. But at last, as tears formed at the edges of their eyes, they embraced together in a hug, rocking back and forth as they sobbed.

They started out talking in whispers. But after the first five hours, they had run out of things to talk about. Ike had illegally joined the army in hopes of defending his country to the best of his ability, even though he was only 15. He didn't want Kyle to know, because he was sure that he would have tried to stop him. Kyle laughed, but it was an empty laugh; one ringing with sorrow and regret.

Two days later, there was a squeaking sound that awoke the two captives. They both looked up to see a tray of two sets of food and two pitchers of water being lowered down by a dumbwaiter contraption. The tray landed and was released, the rope quickly drawn back up to its origins.

"I guess this is our meal," Kyle murmured, listlessly. Ike merely nodded, taking up his pitcher and drinking what little water there was in it.

The days dragged on into weeks, and weeks into months. But neither brother was able to keep track of how long it had really been. They both spent their days in silence, not knowing what to say. Periodically they would wake up to find the other brother weeping uncontrollably, but the only solace they could offer was a hug.

After a while, the Russians stopped sending down a pair of meals every three days and instead only sent down one plate of food and one glass of water. "We'll share the water," Ike proposed. "And we'll alternate who gets the food every other time."

"Makes sense," Kyle agreed, ignoring the ache in his stomach and allowing his brother to eat first. The longer the days, the more they seemed to separate from each other. Soon the only thing connecting them together was the title of "brother."

"I should have listened to Bradley," Ike mumbled in a monotone, unable to cry; his tears had dried up long ago. "He told me not to go, but I just wouldn't listen. And now look…"

"Bradley?" Kyle inquired, sparking the first conversation between them in weeks. "Does that mean that…?"

Ike nodded. "I thought that if I didn't keep it a secret, people might think we… you know. It would be plausible for them to think that since… since I'm adopted. Even though you have Stan, people still might… well… since we're not really brothers… so…."

"Not really brothers…" Kyle echoed. And just like that, their final title was severed.

A few days later, the tray was lowered down and Ike reached over to take the food. "Hey," Kyle mumbled. "It's my turn this time."

"You had it last time," Ike grumbled. "It's my turn, I know it is!" Kyle lunged forward and grabbed Ike's wrist with one claw like hand.

"Stop!" Kyle shouted, his voice hoarse from disuse. "Let's be reasonable about this!"

"You be reasonable!" Ike yelled back, wrenching away. "I've been keeping track this entire time! I've always been smarter than you, and I can keep big numbers in my head! I know that this is supposed to be my meal, so back off!"

Ike shoved Kyle with all his might and the red head collided with the dirt wall. He grunted and shook his head to get rid of the stars and then walked toward the other boy. "Did you just push me?" Kyle shrieked. "I don't think so, bastard!" He threw his fist into Ike's face causing the frail boy to keel over.

With a feral cry, Ike pounced back on his brother, forcing him to the ground. He reached for Kyle's neck and wrapped his fingers around his throat, chocking him until Kyle wheezed.

In a sudden burst of strength, Kyle toppled his brother over, throwing him off his body. With scrambling hands, he groped the floor and took hold of a stray rock. Clenching his teeth, Kyle pushed Ike to the ground with one strong hand, his brother writhing and flailing beneath him. In one swoop, Kyle brought the rock down and smashed it into the side of Ike's head.

The struggling ceased immediately, Ike's arms falling to the ground as if he were a puppet who just had all his strings cut. The only sound left was Kyle's heaving pants as his heart raced in the heat of the moment. He dropped the bloodied stone to the ground with an echoing clatter before stumbling backwards off the black haired boy.

The next day, in the darkness, Kyle huddled into himself, his knees brought up to his chest like a frightened child. Ike had yet to stir and his flesh looked even paler than before. Kyle's breathing became sporadic as the realization dawned upon him.

After what he thought was the passing of another day, Kyle finally worked up the nerve to move closer to the body of his younger brother. With hesitant hands he took hold of Ike and gave him one last hug, feeling the boy's frozen skin burn against his own living flesh. Afterwards, he laid his brother down and positioned his limbs in reverence.

Just then, a squeaking was heard, louder than the dumbwaiter that brought the food. Kyle looked up dismally as a man and two soldiers were lowered down into the pit on an even larger platform. "Good morning," the one with brown hair greeted. Kyle looked them over, too emotionless to be surprised. All his feelings had long been drained away; but he could still see the red, white, and blue colors adorned on their uniforms.

"You're not Russians, are you?" Kyle asked, remembering how to speak.

"Russians, ha!" the man laughed, waving his hand in the air as if erasing all of Kyle's doubts. "We're Americans. The Russians were expelled from this region almost a month and a half ago."

Kyle's emerald eyes grew wide and straightened up in shock. "Then why haven't you been down here to rescue us earlier?!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

"I just wanted to see who'd win," the stranger laughed. "You or your brother? Now I can see which one is worthier. From this point on, I think I'm going to keep a close eye on you, Mr. Broflovski." He leaned over and put out his hand to shake Kyle's, an icy grin dancing across his lips. "You may call me Cooper. Vincent Cooper."

XXXXX

Stan awoke suddenly to the sound of his bunker door being opened. He wiped the sleepiness from his eyes and looked toward the darkened doorway.

Kyle stood at the foot of his bed, a sheet draped loosely over his naked body, shivering so badly that he looked as if he'd seen a ghost. Stan had seen this side of Kyle before; he had had a nightmare.

"I'm… cold," Kyle whispered, simply.

Stan glanced deep into Kyle's tearful eyes and saw with wonder a glimmer of the old Kyle. The one he'd known before that damned war. The one he loved so undyingly. Wordless, Stan pulled the sheets to his bed and offered the warmth from beneath. With bare feet, Kyle padded across the floor to Stan's side, but hesitated. As if a cataclysmic war was going on within his own heart and he couldn't decided what to do.

Slowly, Stan reached out and took Kyle's hand, tugging gingerly. It was dying. The flame of the old Kyle was being consumed by the frozen and emotionless new one. Stan just wanted to pull him close and squeeze away all pain. All the hurt.

Kyle _might_ have gotten into that bed. Stan _might_ have been able to keep that flame alive. Kyle _might_ have been able to change; just as he _might_ not have killed his brother… if someone had not intervened.

"Mr. Broflovski and Mr. Marsh," called a voice from the hallway. The two of them looked up to see Cooper in the doorway, smiling cheerfully. "I would like you two to both get dressed. I'm expecting company." He pivoted on his heels and walked away down the hall.

Kyle pulled away and wrapped the sheets around him even tighter, closing Stan off, keeping him away. "You heard him," he mumbled, the glimmer in his eyes completely gone. "Let's go."

Kyle left the room, leaving Stan alone in his bed with an empty hand and a heavy heart.


	7. The Invasion

Uuuum... I'd have to say only one more chapter after this one, but with Christmas coming up I really don't know when I'm going to get it typed. And I'm going to be working on a new idea I just got (it's an original fiction that I'm hoping to turn into the PUSH contest and maybe get it published! Woot woot!).

**Disclaimer: If I were you, I'd look out your window. See that tree way over there? Yeah... that's me. Just don't disappoint me, m'kay? You wouldn't like it... if you disappointed me.... So write a goddamn review before I go all _Rambo_ on your ass! Or... _Chuck Norris_. Or... _Bryan Boitano_... which reminds me! I don't own South Park.**

ENJOY!

**2013**

**Chapter 7**

The snow fall was oddly peaceful as Kenny stared into it, tracing the pure flakes through their wafting decent until they landed noiselessly onto the ground. But still, far in the distance, the evening sky was covered by an impenetrable wall of cloud; looming, foreboding, omnipresent. It was like a sheet that shrouded any hope of light and cast the world below into a dismal grey shadow.

Silent all but for the sound of her boots crunching atop the fresh snow, Wendy approached and stood by Kenny's side. She leaned forward onto a window sill that had long ago been demolished. She didn't say a word, and neither did Kenny. They didn't have to, for they both knew what each other was thinking.

Kenny cast his worried gaze down onto his Rebel counter part and for a moment he decided that, in spite of her run down clothes and tousled hair, Wendy was exceptionally beautiful. Kenny let out a long sigh and ignored the breath that fogged back into his face.

He had no time for those kinds of thoughts. It was too confusing either way. First it's Wendy, then it's Butters, then back to Wendy again. If he had a nickel for every time his emotions did a 360, he could afford to move out of this dump.

"He's not coming back is he?" Wendy asked, breaking Kenny from his trance. He didn't respond. He didn't have the heart to admit what he knew was true. Wendy wiped her eyes before they started tearing again and stood up to her full height. "I'll go cut another rose. I'll be sure to put it next to Ike's. God knows Bradley deserves at least that."

She turned to walk away, but Kenny reached out and took her by the shoulder. "It's almost time," he informed, flatly. At first Wendy stared at him in confusion, startled by the seriousness of his voice. But eventually she nodded with acknowledgment.

"Mikhail's 'Operation Jericho'," she mused softly.

Kenny removed his hand and let it fall to his side lamely. He returned to his post, to watching the snow fall. The last peaceful sight he'd see in a while. "And the walls will come tumbling down," he mumbled just before the door leading inside closed behind Wendy.

"Step one," Kenny reviewed to himself out loud, confident no one could hear the nervousness in his voice. "Rendezvous at the Rebel starting position; re-read everyone's roles and instructions."

"Step two," he continued in a monotone. "Send out assigned teams; take out all monitoring cameras simultaneously."

"Step three: Once all cameras are destroyed, rally troops at the front gate; set off explosives and rush inside."

"Step four: Teams split up; destroy the enemy base from the inside. Team one demolish walls with detonation devices. Team two locate armory and plant more explosives. Team three defends the front gate as an escape route and also supply diversionary fire. Team four… infiltrate and capture leader."

Kenny's gloved hand clenched at his side and quivered with anger. It had to be him. It was only right that he be the one to be Team four and capture Kyle. He couldn't let his reign of terror go on, not as long as Kenny continued to call him his friend. Friends don't let friends be heartless. Things had to change, and by Kenny's hand.

XXXXX

Nearly midnight… step one had been successfully carried out. Everyone was in position. Kenny couldn't help but smirk to himself as he ducked behind the same boulder he hid in from Craig just days earlier. "Oh Craig," he chuckled under his breath. "Thanks for marking the cameras for us. And in such a vibrant red too. How festive. I guess 'X' truly does mark the spot."

Kenny brought his walkie-talkie to his lips and whispered through the phone. "If everyone is in position, commence step two in 3… 2… 1… fire!"

All at once five fingers pulled five triggers on five electro magnetic wave guns so courteously provided by Mikhail and his Russian technicians. Almost instantly the flashing red lights on the cameras went out.

An Arbiter at his station let out a gasp as all his outside surveillance screens exploded into a loud white noise. He quickly clicked a few keys, turned a few knobs, and rearranged a few wires, but nothing he did made the picture come back. He wheeled on his chair across the room and expertly flipped open the phone. "We have a Code 32," he barked through the receiver. "Camera's monitoring Rebel movements have been disabled. I repeat: camera's monitoring Rebel movements have been disabled."

Not thirty seconds later, yellow lights were flashing and alarms were going off. Stan, who was already getting dressed, still thinking about him and Kyle naked together in one bed, looked up with wonderment. "Yellow," he said, rifling through his memory to tell him what the color meant. "That's an impending assault on the fortress."

Soldiers were already racing through the halls, some in full uniform, others just waking up barely keeping hold of their automatic weapons. Kyle glanced through his doorway, perfectly dressed and itching to move. He fingered his gun almost obsessively but Cooper cleared his throat.

"Stay where you are, Mr. Broflovski," he ordered patiently, sipping from a mug of coffee. "I think you'll find you'll be much safer here in your office with me."

"How can you be so calm?" Kyle shouted, forgetting his place. He was too lost in that frozen smile that sent shivers down his spine.

"A man in my position must learn to hold all the cards," Cooper chortled, laying down his steaming cup. "And if you find yourself in the position in which you aren't …" he wrapped his fingers together and folded his hands in front of his face, the yellow lights dancing across his shimmering glasses. "You have to always be prepared with an ace up your sleeve."

The front door to the Arbiter's base splintered into shrapnel as a bomb behind it detonated. Through the smoke, five figures could be seen standing menacingly, just waiting for the order to move. The middle form lifted its hand, signaling the others to attack.

Stan could hear gun shots as he dashed through the halls, a sword bobbing up and down in its sheath at his waist. Instead of turning right toward the firing bullets, he skidded down the left hallway and straight toward Kyle's room. He glared inside at Cooper before wordlessly slamming the metal door shut.

"What a loyal dog," Cooper mused to himself at the sight of Stan's defense of the door. "Coming right to his master's aid."

"He's mine!" Kyle shouted, clenching his jaw.

"Oh?" Cooper returned, not in the least surprised.

Kyle turned to face him and jabbed one deft finger at the Chancellor. "He's _my_ tool!" he growled. "And I refuse to lend him to anyone. Don't you get any ideas, you hear?"

For just a moment, Cooper's face showed the slightest hint of bewilderment. But just as quickly his devilish smirk returned. "What spirit you have."

"Butters! Jimmy!" Kenny yelled with a forceful command. "I'm making a change to the plan. Find the armory, set up your little presents there. Then make your way to the communications room. Clear it out. Send a message to Mikhail's men. I've changed my mind; I want his help after all."

"Sir, yes, sir," Butters and Jimmy saluted as if ordered by a general, and away they went into the endless maze of hallways. Satisfied, Kenny dashed in the opposite direction. He had to find Kyle and quick. That was his main objective.

"Kenny!" Wendy shouted after him. "You can't go alone, it's too dangerous!" The blonde wasn't listening and continued on his way. "Grr, you stubborn ass! Here!" She tossed Bebe her backpack, who looked up at her in surprise.

"But _I'm_ supposed to defend the entrance and _you're_ supposed to plant bombs on the walls!"

Wendy chose her weapon carefully, a shining and polished rapier. "I'm making my own changes to this plan. You work the bombs, I'm going after Kenny, and we'll leave the entrance undefended. If we have to we can always make a new exit!"

Bebe didn't question, she knew that time was of the essence and that Wendy couldn't be talked out of something once she had her mind set on it. The black haired heroine traced Kenny's steps until she finally caught up with him.

Kenny was face to face with what seemed like an apparition; a ghost from some long forgotten past. Kenny's hand was trembling as he aimed his pistol at the defender, none other than Stan Marsh. Stan was calm and expressionless, a sword held steadily in his hand.

"Don't be stupid, Kenny," he warned, his voice strangely hollow. "At this range I'll slice your arm off before you could even fire a bullet."

Kenny swallowed hard, knowing full well that Stan wasn't bluffing. He never was one to lie or exaggerate. If Stan was so confident in his skills, then Kenny truly didn't have a chance. His pride was torn! Flee and come back another day? Or risk it all for an end to the corruption?

"Stan," Wendy called weakly as she walked slowly forward. "You don't want to do this. I know you."

"You don't know shit," Stan corrected simply, his words void of any malice; as if he were just stating a fact. "137, Wendy," he said to her, keeping his eyes intently on Kenny and his quivering gun. "I've killed 137 people over the past few years. I remember the numbers. I remember their faces, too."

He looked at her finally, his deep blue eyes glowing with sorrow. "Please," he begged. "I don't want you to be one of those faces. I don't want you to be just another number…."

"There was a time when I loved you, Stan," Wendy pointed out, her voice as laden with sadness just as much as his was. "But not like this. I accepted you and Kyle, I really did. But I can't accept what you've become now. If I have to fix it, I will." She raised her sword steadily and cautiously stepped forward, ready for the worst.

"I never wanted this," Stan pleaded, shaking his head.

"But you let it happen anyway…."

"SAY WHAT YOU WANT!" Stan snapped, flailing his arms. "If I have to bear your contempt in order to protect Kyle, then I'll gladly do so!"

Stan felt cold steel at the back of his neck. His eyes widened with realization. Wendy had successfully stolen his attention away from Kenny. "Stan," the blonde whispered, his gun to his friend's head. "Back down. Please." Stan offered no reply, but dropped his sword with a resonating clatter. "Wendy, take him prisoner."

"What's this?" growled a voice from behind them all. "Stan, I'm very disappointed." Kenny didn't turn around until Stan had been securely tied and held hostage by Wendy. He didn't need to see who it was, he could tell by their voice.

"We're taking him hostage, Kyle," Kenny replied, finally turning to face the red head. "Unless you want to fight for him?"

"Go ahead, get him out of my sight," Kyle spat with a shrug.

"What?" Stan shrieked, lifting his head up from defeat with a jolt.

Kyle glared into his very soul and sneered. "What's the point of a tool if it can't be used? You let your emotions get in the way. If you fail me once, you'll most always fail a second time. I can't possibly use a dog that's both lame _and_ dumb!"

Listening to Kyle, Stan's bottom lip began to shake. Tears formed at the edges of his eyes as he gasped for breath. How could he be saying this? He's never heard Kyle act this way. What's happened?

"Look at you!" Kyle continued with a click of his tongue. "You're even crying now!" He gestured towards Kenny, his lips curled in disgust. "Why don't you just shoot him and get this pathetic excuse for a guard out of my misery."

"I don't understand," Stan sobbed, unable to keep from weeping. "All… a-all I've ever… e-ever d-d-done was protect you. All I've e-ever done w-was… love you!"

Kyle remained motionless, his eyes intent and cold. Stan's eyes grew wide in horror. This time he knew that Kyle had heard him… and this time it was clear that he was just refusing to answer. His body going limp, Stan drooped to the floor, the will to live utterly drained from his body. Broken.

"Get him out of here," Kenny ordered over his shoulder. "Get him back to the base." Wendy complied silently and dragged the doll-like Stan away. Kyle had turned back into his office and Kenny raced after him, kicking the door back open before it had the chance to shut.

"KYLE!" he bellowed, his voice booming through the entire fortress.

"Please keep your voice down," a man said coolly, his dark back towards Kenny. "It's bad enough to have these yellow lights flashing, and the sirens. I don't need you adding to my head ache." Steadily the man turned around, and Kenny's jaw dropped.

"Cooper," he whispered breathlessly. "I don't believe it. I come here thinking to end tyranny in South Park, but now I find that with a single bullet… I can end tyranny in the entire country."

"Don't be too sure of yourself," Cooper simpered, as calm and collected as could be. "You haven't won yet."

"Our mission was a total success," Kenny shot back. "We've invaded your precious fortress with hardly any opposition and now, I'm going to end it!"

"Kenny!" a voice came over the walkie-talkie. "It's me, Butters. We've finished everything! Even got a message out to Mikhail! We-"

The line went dead and Kenny fumbled with the device, calling Butters' and Jimmy's name alike, but all that he got in return was more static. "What happened?" he cursed angrily.

"I'm afraid your friends have been captured," Cooper smiled, holding his hands behind his back.

"How could they be captured?!" Kenny shouted at him in rage. "Mikhail's plan was ingenious! Perfect!"

"Ah, yes," Cooper nodded reverently. "My old friend Mikhail. He's quite the thinker, I'll give him that." Cooper elegantly lifted his hand, and his sleeve fell down his arm, revealing a very posh Rolex. He laughed heartily to himself as he read the watch. "But the man has absolutely no concept of _time!"_

There was a ruckus outside and Kenny looked behind him to see three fully armed Arbiters just waiting for him to make a move. Awestruck and dumbfounded, he turned listlessly back to Cooper who continued smiling in the most genuine of fashions. He spied the watch ticking upon his wrist as it read 11: 42 pm.

"B-but," Kenny stuttered. "The mission was supposed to be at midnight! I was sure of it!"

"And indeed it was!" Cooper assured. "My watch however is set to Western time. Let me explain: about an hour ago, I received a call from one my Arbiter's fortresses in what used to be the state of Maine. They reported that they were caught by surprise by a massive offensive by Rebel forces and were compelled to retreat. Within ten minutes of each other I received similar calls across the entire Eastern expanse of my empire."

"It was then that I understood Mikhail's blunder. He had intended for every Rebel station to invade Arbiter fortresses at exactly the same time: midnight. Unfortunately he never took into account time zones. An hour ago, Maine was attacked. Right now, South Park, and in less than twenty minutes, California will be assaulted in a similar fashion; in which I can assure you my troops will be lying in wait for the Rebel scum."

"You see?" Cooper continued, his voice cheerful and bright. "We knew you coming all along. I mean, why build a better mouse trap, when all you have to do is lure the mice to you? Ingenious? Mikhail is ingenious, you say?" Cooper lowered his eyes, and bore his teeth in a stunning grin. "Care to restate your claim, son?"

Without waiting for a rebutle, Kenny whirled around and fired three succinct bullets into the Arbiters behind him. Before they could get up, Kenny was already down the hall and leagues ahead of them.

"Let him go," Cooper instructed, softly. "We've got his two friends, and he's got on of ours. No doubt he'll be back later, willing to negotiate."

Kenny panted heavily as he raced out the front gate, Operation Jericho completely abandoned; his pride and his sentiments crumbling.


	8. The Night Sky

The final chapter. I kinda rushed to get this one up here, so I didn't proofread it at all. If you see any glaring mistakes that MUST be corrected (only if the _must_ be) don't hesitate to tell me in your review.

I hope you all enjoyed the ride! I liked writing this one, but now I'm off to bigger and better things; I may even get a book published! Yay!

**Disclaimer: I don't own South Park. But, if I finish it soon, I might own my own book! Woot woot!**

ENJOY!

**2013**

**Chapter 8**

Kenny rapped his fingers across the table in frustration, his face stone and emotionless. They had made a costly error, there was no getting around it. He scanned the room and cursed himself again as he counted only three Rebels left, including himself. These were horrible odds.

And what of Butters and Jimmy? Already dead or being tortured for information? Kenny just couldn't think about it, his mind racing faster and faster with no hope in sight. What was he doing here? What possibly possessed him into thinking he could actually lead a Rebel force with any amount of success?

The tired boy just had to admit it. He had started this whole thing because he was angry. Angry at Kyle, Stan, and Cartman for betraying him. He told them! He warned them not to go to war! When they brushed him off, he merely backed away, defeated. Kenny slammed his fist into the table with all the might of his rage. He should have tried harder!

Wendy and Bebe were startled by his outward act of aggression, but they both settled down afterwards. They couldn't imagine the kind of hurt that was wracking him even now. That kind of betrayal from long lost friends was simply unbearable. The only one who could possibly relate was Wendy, and even she wasn't as close to Stan as Kenny was.

"Stan," Kenny mumbled under his breath, an epiphany striking him like lightning. "We still have Stan!" He jolted to his feet causing the other members to look up at him, startled. "You see? They won't kill Butters or Jimmy because they know they're bargaining chips. And no matter what Kyle said, he's not going to give Stan up so easily. They'll want him back."

"I'll go talk to him," Wendy offered. "Maybe we can coax some information out of him. Some sort of weakness in the Arbiter's forces?"

"I'll go," Kenny ordered, already starting for the door. "I've been meaning to have a chat with my old friend anyway."

Stan was sitting in a make shift cell, irons bars surrounding him; a plate of food on a dish at his feet. The word 'dog' echoed in his brain for an eternity as he stared to the ground in utter brokenness. He didn't even look up when he heard the door across the room open up.

"It's been a while," Kenny called softly from afar. He took up a chair of his own and got as close to the cage as possible. Stan wouldn't try to make a move on his life, that much was certain. "So…" he started, struggling with the words. "How 'bout that weather?"

Stan remained motionless, not even chuckling at the ill attempt at humor. Kenny cleared his throat and brushed some non-existent dirt from his sleeve, as if looking for the right words to say. He decided being blunt was the easiest and quickest way to get what he wanted.

"Never thought I'd see the day," the blonde haired teen mused to himself as he gazed in on the shadow that used to be Stan. "Look, dude. I know you're hurt. And by the looks of it, you're just about ready to give up."

"What was it for?" Stan asked suddenly, his voice cracking. "All those people I've killed. All the days I've wasted by his side. What was it for? To be his dog? To be his tool! Is this what love amounts to when all is said and done?"

"Stan," Kenny mumbled, feeling the pain aureate from Stan's limp form. "Love is may be what's to blame here. But not love itself. It isn't because you loved Kyle… it's because you loved him too much. You turned a blind eye to what he was becoming. Deceived. We were all deceived."

For a second, Stan flinched. But by the time Kenny looked up again, he had reverted back to his motionless state.

"I want to fight this," Kenny admitted, cutting to the chase. "I want to make sure no one gets hurt anymore. I want to see this country… I want to see South Park back to the way it was. And you can help us, Stan. You can help us win."

"So you just want to use me too?" Stan mumbled, his voice dripping with contempt.

Kenny laid his head against the iron bars with an agitated groan. This was getting him no where. No matter what he said, he wouldn't be able to get through to him. Stan might as well have been dead already.

He got to his feet and sighed, heading for the doorway. Before he closed the door, he turned over his shoulder for one last look. "We're going to get them back Stan. If we have to trade you, then so be it. But we are going to get Butters and Jimmy back."

XXXXX

"I can tell you have things in order here, Mr. Broflovski," Cooper congratulated cheerfully as he dawned his robe and cape. Adjusting his glasses one more time he held out his hand to shake. "Keep up the good work. If you do, I'll see you in my office very soon. I guarantee it."

"It was a joy to have you here as long as we did, Chancellor," Kyle lied through his teeth. "Please accompany us again in the near future."

"Just a few things before I go," Cooper continued, sitting himself down into the black car that had just pulled up for him. "Remember Mr. Broflovski that you have two hostages and they only have one. Make them count, by whatever means necessary. And secondly, I would like you to intercept that transmission our two guests sent out to Mikhail. If we could pinpoint his current location, it would take a great deal of stress off my back."

"Of course, sir," Kyle replied, trying his hardest to keep the venom from his voice. The car door was slammed shut and the vehicle chugged away into the distance.

"Sir," one Arbiter started, saluting. "Would you like me to get working on finding Mikhail's current whereabouts?"

"You will do no such thing," Kyle ordered flatly.

"B-but, why, sir?"

Kyle stared off into the distance, half expecting to see Cooper's car flying back towards them over the horizon. But it never did. The read headed leader shook his head slowly. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "Just don't do it, alright!"

"I see Cooper has left his perch!" a voice shouted over a megaphone somewhere in the distance. Kyle scanned his eyes across the area, but couldn't see who the culprit was. But his voice was familiar. It was Kenny, no doubt. "We've come to negotiate, Kyle."

"So soon?" Kyle shot back. "So desperate to get your lackeys back are you? You're far too eager for them." Kyle snapped his fingers and went walking back inside. Their front gate had yet to be repaired from the assault the previous night.

Kenny watched from his safe location, his breathing already becoming labored with adrenaline. Kyle returned to the light, dragging something behind him. Kenny's eyes grew wide as he recognized the close and the frantic voice.

"Here's one of them," Kyle taunted, lifting Jimmy up with one hand and dropping him harshly back down onto the cold floor. "Come and get him if you want."

"N-no!" Jimmy shouted at the top of his lungs. "It's a t-t-t… it's a t-t-trap!"

Faster than the eye could see, Kyle drew his gun the holster at his waist and fired a single bullet mercilessly right through Jimmy's head. The boy fell from his knees like a rag doll, spilling crimson into the snow.

Kenny nearly jumped from his hiding spot, but refrained himself. Instead he pounded his fist angrily into his leg, as if it would make time reverse itself if he hit hard enough.

Kyle remained still, his arm still outstretched with the gun. "There," he called. "Now we're even. One hostage each."

The gun began to tremble as Kyle's hand clenched it even harder. An unprecedented rage built up and swelled like a hurricane through his body. Suddenly, waving the gun in the air like a wild man, Kyle screamed at the top of his lungs. "DON'T FUCK WITH ME!!"

Kenny was already running. Kyle had completely gone off the deep end. There was no reasoning with him anymore. The only thing he could possibly understand now was violence and power. And if that was the only way to convince him of his horridness… if violence was the only way to save his god forsaken town… then Kenny was ready to give it all.

He was going to end this with a bang.

XXXXX

"We're leaving now," Kenny informed his captive. Stan didn't return the favor. He stayed silent, expressionless, zombie like. "Bebe. Wendy. Are you both sure you're willing to do this? I wouldn't blame either of you if you decided to back out now."

"Actually," Bebe started, raising her hand. "I've changed my mind. I'm sorry Kenny, but unlike the rest of you, I still have a family. My mom and dad need me. I joined this cause because I want to live in freedom…" She withdrew into herself, a confused twist of pride and hurt. "But even from the beginning, I never wanted it at the cost of my life. I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Kenny smiled at her. "That's alright, Bebe. Really it is, I can understand perfectly. Besides… _someone_ has to stay alive and write our side of the story." Bebe nodded at his acceptance and grinned back, relieved.

"I'm still in, Kenny," Wendy assured, bravely. "I know what we have to do. And I'm willing to do it."

Kenny turned back to the cell door and glanced through the bars at his hostage. With slow deliberate hands, he unlocked the cage and opened it just a crack. With that, he turned and left the room with the others.

XXXXX

Snow fell delicately from the grey clouds overhead. It was already evening, but you wouldn't be able to tell, the skies covered with darkness. The doors to the Arbiter's base had yet to be rebuilt, and they were wide open, ready for the taking.

Kyle knew this of course. He doubled the patrol that guarded the entrance, but still he didn't even try to go to sleep. He knew there would be an attack; how could there not be after that morning's display? But, never the less, he would be ready.

However, the seemingly omnipotent Overseer had overlooked how desperate the rebels had become, and underestimated just how far they would go to save their town.

Soon, sirens were blaring and lights through the halls were flashing a dark red. Kyle's eyes grew wide. That color was only used when a Rebel assault had _already_ infiltrated the fortress. How could they be inside already? He bolted from his seat and grabbed the sword he had used to kill Bradley and stormed out of his office. If you wanted to get something done, you had to do it yourself.

Kenny and Wendy had crawled through a window instead of using the front gate. Working their way back around, they ambushed the vanguard at the entrance from behind with everything they had: pistols, rifles, hand grenades, and even swords and knives. Even though there were only two of them, they had the element of surprise and easily won the small battle.

As soon as the sirens started ringing, Kenny and Wendy were off. Their plan was to keep everybody off guard by keeping in motion and praying to whatever gods were still on their side that Kyle hadn't discovered the bombs Bebe had planted the day before….

Plowing through Arbiters left and right, they made their way to the fortress' holding barracks. Their priority was to save Butters. But even as they broke through the door, they both gasped to see that he was already missing… the two soldiers that were watching over him knocked cold and sprawled on the floor.

"Okay, okay," Kenny breathed quickly, not wasting any time. "We just have to trust that he's okay on his own. Just skip to the next phase."

"Gradually pick off everyone in the base," Wendy confirmed, cocking her pistol. "Think we have enough ammo?"

"Doesn't matter," Kenny huffed. "We gotta do it anyway. Else it's Plan B…"

"I'm starting to think Plan B is looking more and more inevitable," Wendy sighed, hearing the rushed footfalls of soldiers hurrying to their location.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

The rebel partners fought their way through a small, unprepared battalion. The Arbiters had no idea where they were, and were frantically calling in reports of attacks where attacks weren't even happening. The entire fortress was in disarray, unable to track down where the Rebels were at any point in time.

Breathless, Wendy turned a corner and shrieked in pain. Kenny's eyes grew wide and crimson splattered against the front of his shirt. His hand trembling, he wiped off the liquid from his chest and stared horrified at the still warm blood dripping from his fingertips. He looked up, too stunned to even move and say a glint of silver protrude through Wendy's torso.

Wendy was tossed to one side and fell against the wall, motionless. Kyle smirked evilly at her and flicked his sword, staining the floor with a shower of blood. "That's one," he sighed, running a hand through his bangs. "Just wish I could have skewered you both at once. Now _that_ would have been impressive."

"Kyle, this has to stop," Kenny shouted, finally regaining control over his body. Kyle looked up with a start, his eyes flashing green just once, his mouth agape as if seeing a long lost friend. But just as quickly, it was gone, smothered by another sinister smirk.

"Oh, something's going to stop tonight," he assured, drawing closer. "And since you're unarmed, I'm going to stop you sooner than I thought." Kyle lifted his arm, and with a laugh, brought the sword down mightily on top of Kenny.

Sparks flew in all directions and metal struck metal and Kyle staggered backwards in astonishment. His eyes were wide in a grotesque mixture of surprise and fear.

Stan slowly straightened himself out, growing to his full height and towered over the quivering Arbiter. His blue eyes were deep and dark, as endless as the sea. His flicked the raven black shocks of hair from his face and frowned at Kyle with such intensity that even Kenny was taken aback. A shimmering rapier was poised at his side and his knuckles were white as he clutched the hilt.

"Stan," Kyle growled, regaining his composure. "What's the meaning of this? How could you-"

"Shut up!" Stan barked, and Kyle instantly grew silent, his emerald eyes glistening. "This is the end, Kyle," Stan said matter-of-factly. "I'm sorry it had to be this way, but it really is all my fault."

"Stan…" Kenny murmured weakly, trying to comfort his friend.

"No, Kenny," he interrupted, his voice calm and collected. "It is my fault. But I'm going to fix everything. Right here. Right now."

"And just how do you intend to do that?" Kyle hissed, hunching over like a cornered animal. "I've always been the better sword fighter than you. You lost each time we sparred together."

"No," Stan corrected. "I was the top fencer in our entire legion. I purposely threw our sparring matches so that you would think you were better. I was always too afraid to hurt you. This whole time… I've been nothing but an enabler. I could have stopped all of this from happening a long time ago. But you were right, Kenny. Because I loved Kyle too much, I let him get away with things I never would have let him get away with otherwise. But I understand now… what I have to do."

"Stan, wait," Kenny tried again, but the other silenced him with his hand.

"I freed Butters from his cage, just like you freed me," he informed, never taking his eyes off of Kyle. "He should be at the armory by now. Go back down this hall and take two rights and then a left, and you'll be there. But be quick, the Arbiters are massing at the front gate. They'll be on your feet the entire way."

Kenny nodded and turned to leave, but Stan called his name one last time. "I know what I have to do," the black haired boy said. "Do you?"

"Yeah," Kenny said. "It's called Plan B."

Kenny raced down the hall and made it to the armory. He leaned over to catch his breath, and when he lifted his head back up, he saw Butters saluting confidently, bombs and missiles scattered about his feet. "I hope you don't mind," he smiled. "But I already started getting ready. We just have to hook everything up."

"You're okay with this, Butters?" Kenny asked, worried.

"I always wanted to be a hero," the other blonde grinned warmly.

Kyle and Stan were fighting with all their might, their steel clashing and ringing through the halls of the fortress. With each step they attacked or blocked, their movements faster than the normal eye could see.

They traveled through halls and rooms alike, lunging and parrying with every once of strength they had in their bodies. Somehow they managed to make it to the front entrance and they backed into the snow, their breaths fogging around them as they grunted and growled.

Both were so evenly matched that neither ever had the upper hand. Stan was level headed and masterful, but Kyle was fueled by the fires of his rage and never once backed down. Stan lunged and sliced through Kyle's elbow who returned the favor with one deft punch into his comrade's face.

Stan tripped backwards, his feet sliding in the ankle deep snow. He lost his balance and flailed his arms, trying to keep on his feet. Kyle wasted no time….

The red head leaned forward and planted his hot lips upon Stan's. The two of them blushed, Stan's eyes closing in ecstasy. Slowly, the sword in his hand slipped forgotten from his grasp and he reached up to Kyle, bringing him in closer. Time ceased as the two of them embraced, their kiss lasting an eternity.

Snow turned red and blue eyes blanched. Stan's fingers clutched at Kyle's back in agony and he tore away from their kiss with a clenched jaw. His legs losing their strength, Stan fell to the ground, his lungs filling with blood as he stared down at the sword embedded into his chest.

"You say I broke your heart?" Kyle asked menacingly. "I think it's about time we made it literal." He leaned over and gradually ripped the blade from Stan's body. Unable to look him in the eye, Kyle turned around and at the same time his walkie-talkie crackled into life.

"We have the two remaining Rebels in our sights, sir," a voice said over the intercom. "We have them surrounded by the armory."

"You're all in the same place?" Kyle growled through his teeth. "Idiots."

"Kyle?"

Kyle went rigid and dropped the walkie-talkie into the snow at the sound of Stan's voice. Instantly his body began to quake and he turned to face his friend, his eyes wide and his pupils constricted leaving great green orbs to shiver in the dim light.

Stan was on his knees, blood blossoming through his shirt and dribbling from the corners of his mouth. He was obviously in an enormous amount of pain, but he was still smiling. Kyle's mind was shattered at the sight of him and the dam finally broke. Tears streamed uncontrollably down his face and gasped in heavy sobs.

"We'll see each other soon, right?" Stan asked, his voice barely a whisper. Kyle nodded, his face contorting as he wept, unable to move. "Promise?" Stan's voice cracked as he too began to cry, his tears rose red with blood.

Kyle couldn't speak, his voice failed him. But he managed to mouth his response. "I promise…."

"Kyle," Stan called one last time, his eyes growing dim. "I love you." Stan breathed out one last time and sunk down face first into the snow.

"Alright you two," one Arbiter said in a guttural voice, aiming his gun at Kenny and Butters. The armory was filled with explosives, each one connected to each other with wires… all the wires connected to one man. "You're coming with us!"

Kenny closed his eye serenely and pulled Butters close to him. "Over my dead body," he cursed, and clicked the button suspended in his hand.

The entire Arbiter fortress erupted into flame, the armory blowing up in a catastrophic explosion. The bombs that lined the walls of the building exploded as well in a chain reaction, leveling the entire area in a single blast. The inferno spread like fires from hell and engulfed everything in its path.

Kyle was blown from his feet, his base demolished in a fire ball. The boom from the explosion shook the foundations of South Park and smoke rose high into the midnight air.

All was silent but for the consuming flames.

Kyle rose to his knees and crawled through the snow, his body rattled and his soul pained. He looked up to see nothing but rubble in the wake of the Rebel's final attack. But the only thing he could think of were his lips and how they were still tingling from Stan's kiss.

A while later, flashes of images sped past Kyle, holding hoses and buckets of water, but he didn't see them. Slow footsteps approached him and stood by his side, an aura of regret and hate wafting from its presence.

"When I heard of the valiant efforts of my comrades here, I just had to come and aid them. But I never would have anticipated their passion and selflessness. To think an entire town could be wiped from the world in a single night… all the cause of greed and pride."

Mikhail set his cold eyes on the trembling shadow of a man that knelt at his feet.

"Kyle Broflovski," he greeted angrily, his voice heavy with a Russian accent. "I constantly remind me subordinates to always take prisoners… never lives. But I believe in your case, I'm willing to make an exception."

Mikhail angled his gun and fired, the icy bullet flying cleanly through Kyle's heart and out the other side. But Kyle did not flinch; he shuttered not from pain, but out of deep and utter despair.

"I killed them all," he whispered, barely able to form the words of his revelation. "I killed him…."

"You realize your treachery," Mikhail mumbled, holding his head high against the chilling wind. "Unfortunately, you realize it far too late." He took slow, deliberate steps away to help in putting out the fire, leaving Kyle to his ill gotten solitude.

Kyle's emerald eyes glazed over. He stared blindly into the darkness, his mouth open with his final breaths. "Stan?" he called out softly, his voice the very embodiment of shame. Slowly he fell forward, the frozen snow draining drops of crimson life force from his body.

XXXXX

Some say this was the turning point of the Rebellion; citizens crying "Remember South Park" at the top of their lungs, parading the streets in arms.

Some say that without the events that occurred in that small back water town, Cooper would never have been over thrown.

Some say that if a message had been sent out like Cooper commanded, Mikhail would have been ambushed before he even reached South Park, and the Rebellion would have ended there. But Kyle refused to send the message out.

The Battle, unfortunately, was lost to history; Bebe being the only one who recorded any of the occurrences. She told of the bravery of her fellow Rebels, Jimmy, Bradley, Butters, Wendy, and of course, their faithful leader, Kenny.

Stan and Kyle's names were never written; their deeds never recorded, as if they had never even existed in the first place. But I think that's the way they would have wanted it.

Regardless of what was or wasn't written, there was one undeniable fact. That fateful night, above the phoenix fire of South Park, for the first time in years, the clouds parted… and the stars could be seen in all their glory.

The End


End file.
